


law of averages

by gracieminabox



Series: horizons universe [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11469255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieminabox/pseuds/gracieminabox
Summary: Chris gets a taste of his own illness-and-accident-prone medicine.Author hereby disclaims responsibility for your dental bills when the fluffiness that is this fic inevitably rots your teeth.





	law of averages

For the most part, it was an unremarkable Monday night in the Pike-Boyce household. Chris was sitting in his armchair with his feet up, giving his guest lecture notes a once-over on his PADD and sipping a scotch slowly, waiting for Phil to come home. The only sounds in the house came from the rain outside and the soft snores of the gigantic mutt on her dog bed in the corner.

Chris started slightly at the sound of a key in the door, then smiled as Phil walked in. Duck raised her enormous head from her bed, gave a quiet _boof_ , then started thudding her tail on the floor.

“Hey, you,” Chris said with quiet contentment, unhooking his cane from the desk and walking over to greet his partner. Phil smiled weakly; he looked exhausted, and not in the predictable _I’m almost seventy fucking years old and still doing twelve-hour shifts what’s wrong with me_ way. Chris let his smile melt into a small frown of concern at Phil’s appearance.

“Hey,” Phil sighed, setting his medkit down and taking off his jacket. “I don’t feel good.”

Chris put a hand up to Phil’s forehead; he might’ve been a little warm, but it was hard to tell. “You getting sick?”

Phil shrugged slightly. “I might be.”

For Phil to be under the weather was exceptionally unusual. In the decades they’d known one another, Chris could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Phil with anything more significant than the sniffles; it was always Chris that was prone to head colds and xenoflus and stomach bugs. 

 _(Also concussions and broken bones and hepatic lacerations_ , Phil would no doubt interject, were he feeling up to it.)

Chris ran a hand through Phil’s hair. “You want me to order from the deli? I can get you some soup if you want.”

Phil leaned in and rested his forehead on Chris’ shoulder. “Thanks, love,” he mumbled, “but I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

For Phil to not be hungry was even more unusual and worrisome.

“You sure?” Chris asked gently. 

Phil nodded into his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Just need some sleep.” He lifted his head, smiled tiredly at Chris, and gave him a peck on the lips. “Has Duck been fed?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, and I took her out.”

“Mmkay.” Phil let out a little breath. “I’m gonna go lie down.” 

Chris ran his hands from Phil’s shoulders down his arms to his hands, where he squeezed. “I’ll be in soon.”

Phil walked in the direction of their bedroom, Duck silently trailing in his wake.

 

~~~

 

By the time Chris came to bed an hour later, Phil was sound asleep, curled onto his left side, with his back to Chris’ side of the bed. Duck lay at the foot of the bed, over Phil’s feet, snoring. Chris stripped to his boxers and t-shirt, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed, looping an arm gently around Phil’s chest.

Phil snuffled slightly and curled his back, and Chris slowly fell asleep.

 

~~~

 

He woke a couple hours later to empty arms and the distant sound of retching.

Blearily, Chris wiped the sleep from his eyes and blinked into the dark room. He could see light filtering from under the door of the en suite bathroom.

More retching.

Chris fumbled for his cane, then pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom door. “Phil?” he called. “Can I help?”

There was silence for a moment. Then the door opened.

“Oh god, sweetheart.”

Phil was sitting on the linoleum floor next to the toilet. His eyes were bloodshot and he was pouring sweat. Chris dropped his cane and sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing Phil’s back, where his t-shirt was sticking unpleasantly.

“Phil, god, what the hell is this? Should I call Len?” 

Phil couldn’t speak for a moment; his mouth was…well, otherwise engaged. Finally, he was able to speak. 

“I think I need an emergency beam,” he managed grimly.

“Oh god,” Chris muttered, racing to the nightstand and grabbing his comm. “Oh god, oh god.”

“I think it’s my appendix,” Phil said miserably. 

 _“Shit,”_ Chris said, fumbling the comm open.

“Please don’t panic,” Phil mumbled, giving another pained, if non-productive, lurch.

“Who’s panicking?” Chris asked in an unsubtly panic-laced tone before directing his attention back to his comm. “Admiral Pike to Starfleet Medical.”

_“Medical here, Admiral.”_

“I need a beam for myself and Dr. Boyce to the emergency department, _now!”_

“Chris…” Phil said in what was an attempt at a placating tone.

_“Locking on your signals, Admiral. Standby.”_

Chris held his comm in one hand and put the other on Phil’s sweaty face. “Oh, Phil.”

The tingly sensation of dematerialization started in Chris’ limbs, and seconds later, they were in the triage ward of the emergency department, two nurses helping Phil onto a biobed. One of the nurses was recording vital signs on the back of his glove while the other was summoning a doctor. Phil was whimpering and Chris was fisting his hands in his hair. 

Phil looked up at the screen between dry heaves and interpreted the readout upside down. “Yep,” he said miserably. “Appendix.”

“Captain B – _Phil?”_ a thirtysomething doctor said with sudden recognition as he came into the room. “What are you doing back here so soon? And why do you look like shit?” Phil just rolled his eyes and pointed to the biobed readout; the doctor looked up at it and said, “Yikes.”

“Yikes?” Chris intoned darkly. _“Yikes?”_

The doctor turned with a bit of a snide look. “You are clearly neither Dr. Boyce’s parent nor his child. Are you his spouse?”

It took Chris a heartbeat of indignation to remember that he was standing barefoot in his boxers and a t-shirt, with no rank insignia on him.

“That’s my partner,” Phil supplied. _“Admiral_ Pike.” He leaned a little heavily into Chris’ rank.

“I see,” the doctor – who had not yet given his name, which irritated the shit out of Chris – said tonelessly. “Admiral, as you are not a relative of blood or marriage, please step out so I can examine my patient.”

“Oh for crying out loud. Dennis, stop being such a bureaucratic bitch for half a second,” Phil sighed. “Chris doesn’t have to leave.”

“It would be inappropriate to – ” the doctor – Dennis – began indignantly.

“I’m the patient and I’m your CO, and in case it's escaped your notice, he outranks us both. He’s staying, _Lieutenant.”_ Phil’s tone brokered no argument. 

Dennis huffed. “Fine.”

“That’s it. I’m calling Len,” Chris blurted, opening his comm again.

“Chris,” Phil began, but was cut off.

“This guy,” Chris hissed, pointing a venomous finger, “is _not_ cutting you open.” 

Dennis glared at Chris; he looked like he was putting more energy into holding back an insubordinate comeback than into treating Phil. 

“Chris, you’re starting to lose it,” Phil whimpered as one of the nurses administered a hypo.

“Pike to McCoy,” Chris said into his comm.

“Christopher, for the love of god, I do not need a highly decorated _trauma surgeon_ to take out my goddamn _appendix_.”

Len’s voice was sleep-tinged on the other end of the comm. “What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“Phil’s in the hospital; I need you to come down, now.”

Phil rolled his eyes, and Chris glared at him. “Ignore him,” Phil shouted, trying to be heard over the comm. “Chris is unaccustomed to the shoe being on the other foot and doesn’t know how to handle it.”

“McCoy, if I have to make this an order, I’ll do it.”

“Len, you do not need to come down here at two a.m. for an appy.” 

“Oh, yes I do,” Len groused under his breath. “I’m on my way.”

Phil shook his head in fond exasperation. “For god’s sake, Chris.”

 

~~~

 

By the time Len showed up to the hospital – in scrubs, but still with bedhead, and mildly hoarse from giving that Dennis moron a tongue-lashing so cutting that the poor kid probably wet his pants – the duraphine had kicked in with a bang, and Phil was telling anyone who’d listen that everything was just _wonderful_ and that life felt so very light and fluffy. It was adorable, though Chris could barely concentrate on it, so potent was his worry.

“Please stop freaking out, sweetheart,” Phil placated. “This procedure’s easy as pie. It’s practically routine.”

Chris squeezed Phil’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just…you’re _never_ sick. I’m the sick one, not you. I’m not used to this. Makes me think about losing you, and I _hate_ it.”

Phil smiled from behind a cloud of drug-induced numb. “Welcome to my world, love.”

Chris winced. “Oh my god, did I put you through this _every time?”_

“Pretty much,” Phil nodded.

“I am _such an asshole,”_ Chris whimpered, leaning his head down on his and Phil’s joined hands. 

“Now, now,” Phil said, stroking Chris’ hair. “None of that. You’ve been really good about not almost dying for the past ten years or so.”

Chris gave a slight nod-shrug. That was true.

Phil smiled at him again. “The law of averages!” he declared, in a voice that sounded very much like duraphine was talking for him. “You know? Future events are likely to balance past deviations from average. Think of this as me just…balancing things out between us.”

Chris nodded. “The law of averages.” 

“Yes.”

“And how many more incidents like this are we gonna have to go through before we actually _reach_ a balance between us?”

Phil paused, then sighed. “Oh, don’t make me do math when I’m on drugs, Chrissy.”

 

~~~

 

Jim came to keep Chris company while Len performed Phil’s surgery. And brought coffee, which by itself erased many of Jim’s historical misdeeds so far as Chris was concerned.

“I’m so glad it’s Len in there with him,” Chris sighed, leaning his head back to rest on the wall behind him.

Jim nodded. “Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Now you know how we felt when it was you.”

Chris winced. “Phil said something to that effect before they wheeled him in.”

Jim smiled slightly. “We take care of our own,” he said quietly. “The four of us do.”

Chris looked over to Jim and smiled. “That we do.” 

Jim idly twirled his wedding band on his finger. Chris cocked his head to the side and watched, oddly transfixed on the movement.

 

~~~

 

“Textbook,” Len announced, coming into the waiting room an hour later.

Chris sighed with relief.

“I’ll keep him overnight and then that’ll be the end of that.”

“Can I see him?”

Len smiled. “Sure. But he’s high as a kite, so fair warning.”

The three of them made their way to the elevator up to Phil’s room.

“You know, I bet Phil’s a lot of fun when he’s high,” Jim said thoughtfully after the doors closed.

Len sighed, draping an arm around his husband. “Shut up, sugar.”

Chris snickered.

 

~~~

 

Oh, Phil was safe.

Phil was whole and alive and safe, and even though he’d told Chris that he’d come out of this simple procedure without a hitch, even though he’d told Chris that this wasn’t a big deal – still. To walk into that room and see that Phil was okay with his own eyes made Chris purse his lips hard against a wellspring of emotion.

Phil was also, as expected, _incredibly_ high.

“There’s my Chrissy!” he said happily, with a wide, stupid grin, seeing Chris in the doorway to his room.

Chris didn’t hesitate. He just walked up to Phil’s bedside, leaned down, and planted a long, fierce kiss square between Phil’s eyes, stroking one hand through the hair on his temples. 

“‘m okay, love,” Phil mumbled. “‘m fine. Len took good care of me, dincha, Len?”

Len and Jim had followed Chris in, but hung back, with Len taking a look at Phil’s vital signs. Chris paid them no mind. Finally, he managed to separate his lips from Phil’s forehead and look him in the eye. Phil made happy eye contact, grinning wide, and ran a finger down the bridge of Chris’ nose.

“Marry me,” Chris blurted without pausing to think about it any further.

In Chris’ periphery, Jim seemed to be choking on his coffee. Len seemed to not be noticing as he gaped at Chris and Phil.

Phil’s face lit up and he smiled a dopey smile. “Mmkay.” 

“You mean it?”

“I mean it.” 

“That’s not just the duraphine saying yes?”

Phil grinned. “Nope, it’s me.”

“Even though I’m a workaholic idiot and I can’t cook without setting the kitchen on fire and I put too much sugar in my coffee and most of the gray on your head is my fault?”

“Even though.”

“Even though I’m historically shit at being married?”

“Law of averages, Chris,” Phil said softly. “The future balances the past.” 

Chris cupped Phil’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” 

“I’m gonna marry you.”

“About damn time, Christopher.”


End file.
